


Late Night Remembrances

by Silent_So_Long



Series: Vampires in Berlin (aka Ramm-pires in Berlin) [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Gen, Nightmares, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5068687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What a bassist remembers in the middle of the night</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Remembrances

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I’d try something a little different with this story, in that I wrote from Olli’s P.O.V. This is meant as a companion piece to my previous fic, Some Kind of Monster, wherein Olli-boy remembers something of what happened to him, at the hands of the revenants.

**Olli’s P.O.V.**

The night was chill against my skin, cold enough to raise goose-bumps upon the flesh, where it was exposed from beneath the short sleeves of my t shirt. I shivered my way into the bedroom, slippers forming odd shush-shush-shush sounds against the carpet as I shuffled across it, yawns filling the air before me as I made my way to the bed. I lifted the covers, folded them back, before stopping to pluck the glass from where I always kept it at night upon the bedside table. I took a quick draught of water, and felt it wash away my thirst and some of the taste of minty toothpaste that I’d just used. I shivered again; the drink was colder than expected, but a balm to my previously dry throat.

I snapped off the bedside lamp, before sliding beneath the covers, folding them up and over my body before settling onto my side. I didn’t immediately close my eyes, despite my tiredness; it had been a long day, yet I found that sleep was hard to come by that night. Perhaps it was because I was over-tired that I found it next to impossible to fall asleep. 

I was still awake when the rain-storm hit fifteen minutes later, drops hitting hard against the glass panes in various loud and unsettling scatter-gun bursts of noise. Cars continued to roll past despite the late hour and the ongoing storm, engines growling like some large and unseen ravenous beast, intent on eating the world alive and all the inhabitants upon it. Oddly, that analogy reminded me of Richard and Paul, and of their recent transformation. 

I settled upon my back, one hand laying upon my stomach as I blinked up at the ceiling; I thought of how they’d been at the party a few day before, of how Paul’s fangs had sunk into Richard's neck, of the sheer blissful expressions upon their faces as they’d fed from one another. I had the sense that it was an intimate, almost private, moment between them, one that wasn’t really meant for the rest of us to witness. Despite the circumstances around why they’d needed to feed in front of us, I thought that it was a good thing that they’d done so; it had certainly turned the tide in my mind of how I’d felt about them. Whilst I hadn’t had the problem with them as Till had, or the almost-fear of them that Flake had, I still had to admit, albeit privately, that I had some wariness of the vampires, that somehow they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves from turning those fangs and their greater strength upon one of us. That they’d chosen to then find a victim each outside of the apartment, showed to me, and the others, that that was not their intent, and probably never had been. 

My mind ran over my memories again of their feeding, of how those fangs had looked whilst sliding into flesh; I couldn't believe that something so tiny, almost fragile-looking, could slide into flesh as easily as a knife. I wondered then how it would feel to actually be bitten, whether it was as pleasurable and as beautiful as it appeared to be for the vampires. I tried to tamp down my quelling curiosity, unwilling to even ask to be bitten, uncertain as to whether the vampires would even agree to it, despite the fact that I would be, essentially, giving my consent. I doubted it, given the strength of their assurances that we were never in danger from them.

I turned onto my side again, just as headlights moved across the room, brightening the entirety of it in flickering streaks that made the bedroom furniture appear to dance and spin like crazy, casting weird shadows against the walls. I had the sudden sense of bone-yard skeletons and fairy-tale witches rearing and winnowing across the room, before the car passed and the fantasy was gone, broken into a million childish shards. I sighed and closed my eyes, tried to allow the rain to lull me into sleep at last. My body began to relax, lulled still further by the sensation of the blankets around me, warmed by my body heat. I snuggled down still further and yawned; a few moments later and I’d fallen asleep.

I dreamed 

_of Richard and Paul, fangs showing in ghoulish grins, covered in blood_

_of walking from my apartment through Berlin streets, snow covering the ground in half-melted slush, turned dirty from car fumes, as bicycles whooshed past and churned the slush into further mess_

_of turning down a deserted alleyway, a shortcut I usually took towards my favourite pizzeria_

_of catching the scent of rotting flesh, of eggs, of sulphur, wafting suddenly through the air from somewhere behind me_

_of being grabbed from behind by unexpected hands, cold and oddly slimy against my body, felt even through the thick covering of my clothes_

_of bright rills of pain crackling through my head and followed by swift darkness-oblivion of unconscious_

_of regaining consciousness briefly, in snatches, of grabbing glimpses of trees arching over me in bare-boned, leafless embraces_

_of hearing the restless roaring of caged lions, trickling water, the promise of roses in full bloom hanging frozen in winter-ice_

_of finally recognising my surroundings as belonging to the Tiergarten_

_of feeling as though something, someone other than myself inside my head, rooting around as though trying to find deepest darkest secrets from the inner recesses of my mind_

_of catching glimpses of faces, elongated staringly blue faces leering down at me, hands over my face over my body over every single part of me and it seems as though they’re injecting me with something injecting me with poison making me believe lies half-truths untruths about my band-mates making me want to kill to ruin to destroy to knife Richard to kill Richard to kill Paul to SCREAM_

and I do.

Scream that is, loud enough to rouse me from sleep and sit bolt upright in bed. I found that I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat despite the ongoing chill in the room. Outside, the rain was still sheeting down, yet the cars that had broken into my thoughts earlier in the evening were less frequent now; the shadows no longer danced crazily upon the wall as they had earlier, before my sleep and ensuing nightmare. 

“Jesus,” I said, aloud, as I scrubbed slightly shaking hands across my face. 

It was the first time I’d even dreamed about what had happened to me at the hands of the ghouls, and though I’d wanted to gain some insight as to what had happened to me, I almost wished my memories had mostly been forgotten, relegated to those scant few, uncertain, non-scary images that I’d managed to retain despite my possession. My dream was muddled, indistinct, certainly, yet disturbing enough to make me feel terrified and unsettled. 

I didn’t sleep again that night.

**Author's Note:**

> More stories to come in this series!!!


End file.
